Changing Times
by therealesther
Summary: And this is where things are getting complicated. Hijikata Toshio x Okita Souji


_Disclaimer: I don't own Bakumatsu Seishun Hanafubuki. _

**Changing Times**

_A Bakumatsu Seishun Hanafubuki fic._

_Hijikata/oblivious!Souji_

Twelve years old, and he is a wiry little boy, with great brown eyes that look too big for his face. He is quick and lively, and his voice is like the chirping of a bird. He follows Hijikata around constantly.

"Hey, hey, Hijikata-san, when can I have a sword?"

"You've already got a sword."

"But it's only made of wood," the little boy protests, pouting adorably. Hijikata hides his smile – he's found he's developed quite a soft spot for the kid – and instead rolls his eyes.

"It's all you need for the moment; when you get bigger, you can have a real sword. Maybe in a year or two."

The big eyes widen in horror. "A _year _or two!? But that's so loooong. Hijikata-san!"

"It'll be longer if you spend the time whining instead of practising your technique. So if you have enough energy to bother me, why don't you do some training instead?"

The boy's face falls at the stern tone, and Hijikata groans inwardly at the sudden backlash of remorse he experiences.

"I was heading over to the dojo anyway for some training. At least I can watch you and make sure you don't overdo it if you go now." He says this before he can stop himself and the boy looks up and beams delightedly.

With difficulty, Hijikata averts his gaze from that glowing little face and begins walking across the compound to the long, low building. The boy has to skip to keep up with his long strides. His high, fluting young voice fills the air with cheerful chatter.

Fifteen years old, and he is a slender, slightly gangly boy, tall enough to reach Hijikata's chin. His skill with the sword is unmatched by any other boy his age at the dojo, and before long, he is clamouring to be allowed to train and spar with Hijikata. Who he still constantly follows.

Hijikata oversees his sparring with Saitou and Todou, who have learned not to go easy on the boy for their own sakes. For despite his playful, even bubbly personality, his fighting is anything but, and even now, there are whispers in the dojo describing him as 'a second demon' appearing. Hijikata, who would be described by these whisperers as the first demon, is achingly proud of the growing strength of his…his…student? Subordinate? Friend?

And this is where things are getting complicated.

"Hijikata-saaaan!" The delighted cry behind him is all the warning he gets before a pair of thin, wiry arms wind around his waist like some kind of creeper vine.

"Get off me you little brat!"

The only response is a chuckle, and Hijikata turns his head and looks down into a pair of large, twinkling dark eyes. Long, thick lashes that any courtesan would envy flutter at him mock-coquettishly.

"I said, get off me!" He repeats, tugging half-heartedly at the delicate, yet strong hands clutching the front of his jacket.

"But why, Hijikata-saaan?" The boy pouts in a way that really should not look that cute on nearly-sixteen year old young men, and Hijikata struggles to repress a grin. "Does it make you uncomfortable?" He asks, pouting even more.

"No," says Hijikata, "But if you don't get off me, I'll have to chop your arms off." He moves a hand to his sword hilt jokingly.

To his surprise, the boy lets go instantly, and, ducking under his arm, pops swiftly up in front of him, a dazzling smile on his face. Hijikata is instantly suspicious.

"What are you looking so happy about?" he asks cautiously.

"You said it didn't make you uncomfortable!" The boy cries happily, clapping his hands together. "Yamanami-san! Gen-san!" He calls to the men passing by them, who stop to listen, indulgent smiles on their faces. "Hijikata-san just said he likes my embraces!" This is proclaimed in loud tones of complete triumph, and Hijikata feels that the cuff to the head he deals out to the boy is richly deserved.

Yamanami and Gen's smiles only broaden, and they exchange knowing glances that Hijikata wishes he could ignore or misunderstand.

Eighteen years old, and the pretty boy is a boy no longer. Motionless bodies lie scattered on the ground around them, blood soaking into the soil and Hijikata is aware only of the soft, quickened breathing of first captain Okita Souji standing behind his left shoulder. Where he always is.

"Hijikata-san, I think that's all of them." His light, clear voice falls silent and they stand, listening, ears and eyes straining. After a few minutes like this, Hijikata consciously relaxes his stance and sheathes his sword.

"You're right. Let's go, Souji."

At that moment, there is a sudden movement to his left in front of him; a strange figure lunges at him with a cry, daggers glinting in the moonlight. Hijikata jumps back to give himself room, reaching for the hilt of his sword, but there is another, swifter, more graceful movement from beside him, another glint of steel, and the enemy's battle cry is abruptly cut off with a hideous gurgle.

With some difficulty, Souji withdraws his blade from the man's ribcage and turns to face Hijkata.

"Forgive me, Hijikata-san. I failed to hear this opponent's footsteps."

Hijikata snorts. "No apology necessary, brat. You just saved my life again."

Souji sheathes his sword and bows. Although it is too dark to see his face, Hijikata can tell immediately from his voice that Souji is smiling. "As you have saved mine so many times."

"So we're even then. C'mon, let's go home." Hijikata begins to walk without a backward glance. He knows that Souji will be there, just behind his left shoulder.

Twenty years old, and Okita Souji is the most beautiful young man Hijikata has ever seen. His face has grown to fit and enhance the loveliness of his doe-like eyes, and his smooth skin is as pale as ivory. His long, shining black hair, even bound as it is in the customary ponytail, makes girls sigh with envious longing, and his lithe, slimly muscled figure draws the gazes of lechers of both genders everywhere they go.

He is still as vivacious, naïve and unspoiled as a child, despite the blood he has shed with such ease and skill, and the light in his endless dark eyes has never dulled. He is rarely seen without a smile, and yet each time Hijikata is blessed with one, it strikes him anew; bright, flashing and startling, like nothing so much as seeing a burst of joyous flame on a cold winter's night, when all light and warmth seems so very far away. He is not shallow or superficial; beneath his gaiety and playfulness, there lies sensitivity, thoughtfulness, indomitable courage, and a warrior's steely determination, supported by a strict sense of moral obligation and honour.

Souji is also completely single-minded about achieving his goals, incredibly persistent, and totally unaware of his own beauty. All these things combine to make Hijikata's existence very lively, exciting, amusing, often frustrating, and increasingly torturous.

"Hijikata-saan!"

Cursing his own carelessness, Hijikata hastily slips the top of his training uniform back on and fumbles to tie it closed. Too late. The door of the bath house slides open and Souji is there, beaming with delight at having found him.

"Are you going to take a bath, Hijikata-san?" He almost skips into the steamy room and shuts the door behind him. "I can wash your back for you!" Souji snatches up a scrubbing cloth from a nearby bucket and advances on Hijikata gleefully.

"I've changed my mind," dodging around him towards the door, Hijikata is turning in order to keep Souji in his line of sight, "I'll take a bath before dinner instead," when Souji suddenly trips – over the damn bucket – and slips – on the wet floor – and lurches toward Hijikata, arms outstretched.

It's a reflex action to reach out and catch him, and being unprepared for Souji's weight, Hijkata is pushed back against the closed door. Souji falls against him, flush against Hijikata's bare chest – the stupid, _stupid _untied training jacket has fallen open – and instinctively, so easily, Hijikata's hands come up to grip that slim, muscular waist, and _so_ naturally, Souji's hands come up to clutch at Hijikata's broad shoulders.

For a moment they cling together like this, and Hijikata can feel Souji's breath, coming quick and uneven, almost panting against his collar bone, and he can hear his own shallow breaths, sounding raspy and loud in his ears. Still holding tightly onto his shoulders, Souji slowly, carefully eases back, just enough to be able to tilt his face up to meet Hijikata's gaze. There is silence as they regard each other, and suddenly Hijikata is terrified at the loud, insistent pounding of his heart, at just how _little_ control he has over himself at this moment, as he looks down at Souji, _his_ Souji, the legendary boy swordsman, the 'second demon' of Shinsengumi, the playful child, the beautiful youth and loyal subordinate, all embodied in the one figure he now holds in his arms.

Souji makes a small noise, a flush of red delicately adding colour to his pale cheeks, and he stares up at Hijikata with his dark eyes, the pupils hugely dilated now, and he shifts, involuntarily moving just a little closer, and Hijikata feels as if his body is blazing with fever so hot he wonders why he hasn't burst in flames already. He still can't move however, hands clenched and shaking with the effort of not moving from Souji's waist, shaking with the desire to crush Souji against him, to take of the seemingly limitless love and devotion he is offered in Souji's every look and word and action.

"Hijikata-san," Souji says, softly questioning, "Why do you feel so hot? Your face is so red."

With a shuddering breath, Hijikata's hands release Souji's waist, only to firmly grasp Souji's upper arms, and place Souji an arm's length from him, out of harm's way. His treacherous eyes plunder the sight before him, of Souji, flushed pink and slightly dishevelled, with the scrubbing cloth clutched against his chest. Turning his gaze determinedly away, Hijikata opens the door, and unceremoniously pushes Souji out through it before the startled youth can protest.

"Go away Souji, I'm going to take a cold shower," he calls through the wooden door.

"But why? Isn't warm water better for your muscles to relax? Hijikata-san should take better care of himself!" Souji's disappointed voice brightens perceptibly, "Or maybe Hijikata-san should let _me_ take better care of him! If you don't want me to scrub your back, I could give you a massage. My hands are very skilled!"

Hijikata groans inwardly at the offer, and snatches the first available bucket. He needs cold water, and he needs it _now_.

_AN: Has anyone else read this manga? I found it through BakaManga updates. It's very cute, by Kamo Nabako. Worth a read._


End file.
